


12 Days of Ficmas 2016: Snowman

by PoppyAlexander



Series: Road to Home [14]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cute Kids, Domestic Fluff, F/M, He's Trying to Make Them Into Geniuses, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Road to Home 'verse, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock is a Babysitting Menace, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:48:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyAlexander/pseuds/PoppyAlexander
Summary: Donna arrives at 221B to find Sherlock has taped oven mitts to her children's hands and strapped goggles over their eyes--it makes them feel more like scientists.





	12 Days of Ficmas 2016: Snowman

Donna could hear Sherlock’s low voice, and the identical, chirpy voices of the twins even as she ascended the stairs to Sherlock’s flat. She called out a, “Hullo! Mummy’s here to fetch you home, you pair of—OH MY GOD.”

“Ah, hello, Mrs Watson,” Sherlock said, looking up at her through thick, Victorian-looking metal goggles. Amy and Wil were knelt on the kitchen chairs on either side of his own, also wearing goggles—the more standard, contemporary clear plastic sort, with long tails of elastic dangling from each side where they’d been pulled tight around their three-year-old heads. The twins were sporting their little parkas turned backward, and oven mitts tightened around their wrists with tape. Sherlock wore a rubber apron and gloves to the elbows. The kitchen table was covered four inches deep in rolling, wafting white mist.

“Mummy, we’ve made a snowman!” Wil reported. Indeed, there was a two-foot-tall arrangement of white blocks in the center of the table, wearing John’s reading glasses and Sherlock’s deerstalking cap.

Donna dropped her handbag by the door from the landing and rushed to the table, patting first Amy, then Wil, around the head and shoulders.

“I assure you the children are fully assembled,” Sherlock told her.

“Why are they dressed for an acid bath on the moon?” Donna demanded.

“Direct skin exposure to dry ice can cause burn-like injuries. The goggles just make us feel more like scientists,” Sherlock replied.

“I’m a science-ist, Mummy,” Amy reported. “Sherlock put water on the snowman’s shoes and look what happens! He’s standing in a bowl.”

“The snowman, that is,” Sherlock clarified. “It’s quite safe.”

“Wook, Mummy. Bwow on it,” Wil demanded, and puffed up his little cheeks. “ _Gentwy_ ,” he added. He blew gently-for-a-toddler across the surface of the roiling cloud oozing its way across the tabletop. The shifts in shape and motion were hypnotic.

“Maybe later, duckie,” Donna told him, forcing a small smile. “So, where’s Daddy, then?” she asked, directing the question to Amy but clearly asking it of Sherlock.

“Went to buy wine for dinner.”

“Mummy, I’m murder the snowman, watch,” Amy demanded, and picked up a nearby butter knife, and pressed the tip against the center block of ice. It let out a hideous squealing sound. “See how he screams?”

“Sherlock!” Donna scolded.

“I’m not the murderer!” Sherlock protested, raising his hands in surrender.

“How would they even know that word?”

“I did teach them that, I’ll admit.”

“Amy, put down the knife. Carefully.”

“What happens after the murder, Wil?”

“Sherwock takes the case because the powice are bumbwers.”

“Daddy catches the murder and Gerry Lestrawb puts him in jail!”

“But what happens to the snowman now you’ve stuck a knife in him?”

“He’s fine. He’s snow.”

“Mummy, can you bwow on it now?”

Knowing she’d been bested by two three-year-olds and a massive overgrown child, Donna at last shed her coat, draped it over the fourth chair and sank into it. The four of them blew gently at the drifting cloud, from every direction, and they were still doing so when John returned with the wine for dinner.


End file.
